Up in the Air
by sonsofmogh
Summary: Harry Potter's destiny was to save the world, become an Auror, and be with Ginny Weasley forever. He did the first. The second wasn't all he thought it would be, and the third is a story for a different day. Where does that leave the Chosen One so soon after his twenty-fourth birthday? And will a past acquaintance show him what or even who he wanted for his future?
1. Chapter 1

Harry blankly stared down at the broken bits of his wand, blinking almost robotically at the two splintered chunks of holly dangling precariously by only the bent shaft of phoenix feather than ran though the core. It looked small and fragile, much less like the trusty teammate that had battled with him through thick and thin, and far more like a feeble, withered carcass that was ready to die at any second.

His wand had been broken before, but on that fateful day over six years before, Harry had been outraged on its behalf. Heart-broken, even. But as he glanced over at his mortified co-worker, who had sat on it quite by accident, he felt a whole lot of… nothing. He knew he should've been more careful, instead of leaving it carelessly on the settee, and the whole thing was pretty much his own doing. Yet he was completely devoid at anger, either at himself or the immensely apologetic Jeffrey Simmonds.

"Harry, I…" started Jeffrey. "I'm sorry, mate. I didn't see it, and —"

"It's okay," Harry interrupted, his voice flat. Not looking over, he stood, the remnants of his wand clutched firmly in his fist. He reached over and patted Jeffrey's shoulder. "It's okay," he repeated before walking out the door of the on-call room of the Auror Offices.

Where Harry planned on going, he had no idea. His shift wasn't due to end for another three hours, but there wasn't much he could do without a wand, and there were, as usual, far too many Aurors for the minuscule amount of work that might possibly come up. So, his feet carried him through the winding corridors of the Second Level of the Ministry and to the lift. Soon, he found himself in the Atrium, digging in his pocket for a Sickle to put into the Floo Powder dispenser. When his search turned up a few Galleons and Knuts, and he recalled that the machine didn't make change, Harry felt a chuckle brewing in his chest. He looked down at his left hand, which grasped the splintered wand, and then to his right, which held his currently useless coinage.

He couldn't stop himself. That smattering of mirth spiralled into a deep, rumbling belly laugh. Even as his brain struggled to understand what was so amusing, his lungs continued to vomit mirth into the empty, echoing Atrium. The sound was so out of place that it almost served to fuel it further. The more he tried to restrain himself, the worse it became.

His eyes watering, Harry leant against the wall and felt himself slide to the floor, unable to quit laughing despite his throat burning in protest. Finally, though, he simply ran out of wind and choked on large gasps of air until all he had left in him to do was whimper pathetically. When Security Desk Wizard Jim Peakes came over, wand out, to investigate the disturbance, Harry couldn't muster enough energy to either stand or to even pretend that everything was normal.

"You all right, Harry?" Jim asked hesitantly, clearly not having a clue what the hell was going on.

Grinding the coins in his hand against one another, Harry mumbled, "I'm out of Sickles."

If Jim had not been confused already, he was by that point. Scratching his head, he said, "Well, I know not everyone likes to Apparate, but I'm sure…" When Harry's left hand containing the broken wand shot into the air, Jim merely said, "Oh. Tough luck, mate." He dug into his own pocket, and Harry felt something land in his lap. He glanced at it. A single, glittering silver coin.

"Best get to Ollivander's before it closes for the day," Jim advised as he began to creep back toward his desk. "Who knows how many you'll have to try out."

Nodding woodenly, Harry shoved his own coins back into his trouser pocket and awkwardly stood. At once, he was struck by how heavy and cumbersome his Auror robes were. Without a second thought, he let them slide from his shoulders and onto the floor. Feeling much lighter, he spent the Sickle in the Floo powder machine and poised to toss the silvery dust into the grate. However, he stilled his hand when he realised he had no idea where he wanted to go. Jim was right about Ollivander's, but wand-selection was not on the list of things he cared about at the moment, even if complete reliance on the Floo to get around would be noisome at best.

At last, Harry's brain settled itself on Diagon Alley. He could just buy the first wand that seemed remotely interested in him for the time being and then go—

_Go where?_ he asked himself. Back to work? Home to his tiny flat, filled to the rafters with old wanted posters and piles of dirty laundry? To the Leaky for a pint or twelve? The first option did not appeal to him in the slightest, and the second was little better. Plus, there were still a few of Ginny's things strewn about from the last time she had visited for the night, and that had been well over a year before. Actually, the more he considered the former two possibilities, the more the idea of copious amounts of beer appealed.

Having settled on that, he pitched the Floo powder into the grate and said, "The Leaky Cauldron." Taking a steadying breath, he prepared himself for the accompanying jolt of being sucked into the network and his subsequent graceless deposit on the hearth. Stumbling to his feet, he brushed himself off and headed straight for the doorway that led to the rest of Diagon Alley. As usual, he could hear people talking along the pavement, the sight of the Boy-Who-Won still a notable event to them. Typically, he tried to hear what they said about him, but on this particular day, he couldn't have cared less.

Harry strode straight to Ollivander's and to the desk, where a boy, probably working during his summer holidays away from Hogwarts, stood behind the counter. The young man was reading the latest edition of Quidditch Weekly and didn't stir when Harry slapped his broken wand onto the counter. Finally, a very loud clearing of the throat made the shop boy look up, and, for once, someone jumping to attention because of who he was didn't bother Harry.

"Is Mr Ollivander in?"

Nodding, the boy backed away slowly, nearly upsetting a pallet of wand boxes because he wasn't looking where he was going. He finally disappeared around a corner and began to shout for his employer in a squeaking, excited voice, and Harry settled onto a bench lining the wall. After a few minutes, he heard the dull thud of a walking stick, and Ollivander hobbled slowly toward the counter.

Once Ollivander saw Harry, he grinned. "Well, Mr Potter, I haven't seen you in ages! What brings you here today?"

Feeling contrite for making Ollivander come all the way from the back of the shop, Harry said, "I'm sorry. I could've just… Well, you see, it's my wand. It's, er, broken, and—"

"Say no more, my boy," Ollivander said with the wave of his hand. "Do you have it with you?" Fishing in his pocket, Harry withdrew the carcass of his holly and phoenix wand and handed it to the old man. Upon seeing it, Ollivander frowned. "Oh, this is beyond repair, I'm afraid. You may have to purchase a new one."

With a sigh, Harry said, "I thought as much. We'll just do that then." He almost hated to ask Ollivander to undertake such a task, but before he could rescind his statement, the wandmaker started to call out a series of numbers, which sounded like catalogue codes. The young man sprang into action and collected a series of boxes for his master before laying them out in order on the counter. Nodding at his apprentice, Ollivander said, "Thank you, Jeremy."

One by one, Ollivander handed Harry different wands, shushing him when he tried to settle on the first decent one. Jeremy was sent back for new stacks of them a good number of times when Ollivander wasn't satisfied with the result. At this juncture, Harry was ready to take the next wand that so much as warmed his hand just so he could leave.

However, the very next box yielded the best results yet. Ollivander said, "Go on, try something."

Looking around, Harry fixed his attention on the bench he'd inhabited earlier. With a quick flick, he Transfigured it into a rocking chair. This wand felt good in his hand, almost as much so as his old one. A smile threatened, either in relief or in triumph, and Harry patted the box. "I'll take it."

"Excellent!" Ollivander said as Jeremy began to re-stock the discarded wands. "Larch and unicorn hair, ten inches with a little bit of give. Very versatile, this one." Harry began to dig into his pockets for payment, but Ollivander stopped him. "I wouldn't think of taking payment from you, Mr Potter. If not for you, I wouldn't be here right now."

"But, Mr Ollivander, I—"

"And that's the end of it! Consider it a token of appreciation."

Seeing that Ollivander wasn't going to cave, Harry simply said, "Thank you, sir," grabbed both his new wand and his old one, and left.

Upon hitting the street this time, the attention he was garnering was far more noticeable, pressing him to return to the Leaky Cauldron post-haste. Harry just hoped to be left alone once inside, and there was a darkened corner that appeared quite useful to that end. None of the other patrons seemed to notice him at the moment, and the woman working the bar…

Harry started. He would've known her anywhere; it just surprised him that she was working in a bar and not in an office somewhere — not with her qualifications. And she was a lot different. In school, she'd had more rounded cheeks and a girlish look, but her face had thinned and really complemented her short hair, which was yet another change from what he remembered. And her figure was quite striking in its dissimilarity to his recollection. Formerly, her body had been thin, wiry, and athletic, but certain aspects of it were more _pronounced_ than they used to be. Before, he hadn't even had an opinion on the matter, but at that moment, he couldn't help but find her attractive.

When she caught his eye, Harry flushed and looked down at his hands, annoyed that he had been staring. In his peripherals, he tried to gauge whether she had noticed his over-attentiveness, only to find her making her way toward him. Under his breath, he swore, not looking forward to explaining why he'd been gawking at someone who was an old friend. To his surprise, though, she sat across from him and smiled widely.

"Harry, I haven't seen you in ages! How have you been?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but all he could manage was, "Hi."

She gave him a dubious look. "You don't remember me? I saw you looking over at me, so maybe…"

At her crestfallen expression, Harry said, "No, no, no! Of course I remember you, Katie!" He ran his fingers through his hair, chuckling nervously. "You just… look different, that's all. The hair, and…" he struggled to keep his gaze from wandering into rude territory, "…other things.

Katie smiled sheepishly. "I wasn't sure about the hair. It wasn't really my thing, but my hairdresser swears up and down it is." She looked away, clearly self-conscious as she smoothed non-existent fly-aways. "I might grow it back out. Just… needed a change, I suppose."

Empathising with that sentiment, Harry said, "Yeah. I get that." His fingers drummed on the table, eager to wrap themselves around a mug full of alcohol. He was torn between catching up with an old friend and wanting to crawl into a glass before she could ask him too many questions that he didn't want to answer. But one look at her face told him that she needed to talk to someone. "So, um…" he fumbled, "you work here?"

Shaking her head, Katie said, "Not exactly. I just took my divorce settlement and loaned Hannah Abbott some money so she could buy it. I just come and help out here and there to keep my mind off things."

Just how out of touch he'd been with people he considered friends struck Harry with full force. "You were _married_? I had no idea."

She didn't seem too bothered about his ignorance, instead choosing to shrug nonchalantly. "It's no big deal, really. I was young, stupid, and thought I was in love. In the end, I think I made him more miserable than he made me."

Frowning, Harry asked, "So, who was it? Anyone I know?"

With a sigh, Katie said, "Yeah, you know him. Roger Davies."

"Huh," Harry mused aloud. "Never took him as being a jerk. Shows what I know, I suppose." He searched his brain for any evidence he could that Davies was worthy of his scorn on Katie's behalf, but he could find none. Instead, he settled on idle chit chat. "So, um… what do you do these days, or are you just a rich divorcée between jobs." He could've kicked himself for the way he phrased that, but Katie didn't seem to mind the question.

"Before I married Roger, I worked in the front office for the Arrows. It was the one job I could find where playing Quidditch actually meant more than getting NEWTs, so I took it. Roger plays on the team, and we dated a few times before things got serious. He proposed, I said yes. It didn't work out, so we got divorced. That's about it, really."

Feeling far less antagonistic toward Davies after Katie's account of their relationship, Harry nodded and averted his gaze. Silence took over for a while before she waved a hand in the air, summoning Tom, who had taken her place at the bar. Soon, two pints of lager were set in front of them, but before Harry could get so much as a few dregs in, Katie had already finished hers and ordered another.

"Piss water, this stuff," she said, wrinkling her nose at the empty cup. "Been trying to get Hannah to spring for better quality, but she insists that lower prices make for better sales. I disagree."

Though he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was, there was something drastically different about Katie, which he noticed the more he talked to her. It wasn't just her appearance; she seemed far more jaded than the sweet girl who wouldn't have so much as harmed a fly. This was further evidenced when she ordered another round when his own glass was still well over half full. _He_ had come there to crawl into a mug and forget things, so he could only imagine what sort of things she was trying to drown out.

The server came over with a fresh drink, but before he could leave, Katie said, "Make the next one a scotch, three fingers and no ice." And as he was leaving to comply, she called, "Keep them coming!"

"So, um…" Harry started, not sure where to go from there. Marriage didn't seem to be a happy topic, and he wasn't enthused about the idea of talking about his own life. Searching his brain for anything they had in common, he stuttered, "Are you, er, going to the fundraiser ball for St Mungo's tomorrow night?"

After taking a long chug, Katie said, "Bought two tickets. Probably won't go, though." When Harry raised a brow, she supplied, "_He's_ going to be there."

"Ah," he said, not blaming her for wanting to avoid her ex. It was the same reason he had been searching for an excuse to get out of it himself. Ginny was almost certain to attend, probably on the arm of some guy who deserved her more than he ever had. And as happy as he would be for her, he really didn't care to see her with that someone in person.

As if cognisant of his train of thought, Katie scrutinised him closely. "Whatever happened with you and Ginny?"

"It didn't work out," Harry said, hoping that would be the end of it. "We wanted different things." And while he privately acknowledged that this wasn't entirely true, he was willing to lie to himself until he believed it. It hadn't been that he and Ginny didn't want the same thing; it was more their respective levels of confidence in things working out that drove a wedge between them, eventually causing them to split up. As much as he would've liked to say they were both to blame for their relationship falling apart, he knew he was almost solely at fault.

Mercifully, Katie's new drink arrived, surprising Harry anew that she had found the time to empty her second while he was still on his first. But he hadn't expected her to push it across the table toward him. When he looked at her in askance, she said, "Drink it. God knows you need it more than I do."

Not in a position to argue, Harry took the generous helping of liquor and drank it in one great gulp. He coughed and sputtered when it scorched his oesophagus, but even as it burnt with pain, he relished the sensation. A warm coil began to unwind in his belly and snake its way through his limbs, giving him a dizzied, almost dazed feel. He tried to remember what he'd been thinking about previously and couldn't for the life recall. She was right; he had needed this. "You know," he prefaced, "I never got why people drank stuff that tasted like turpentine, but I think I'm starting to see the appeal."

With a smile of triumph, Katie took the half-drunk beer that sat in front of him and downed it, chasing the latent froth around her mouth with her tongue. Harry's breath caught in his lungs as he watched it, lithe and pink, skimming over the swell of her bottom lip before retreating. Several seconds passed by before he realised that he was staring, and the placement of two more scotches was a welcome distraction.

This time, though, she slowly sipped her drink. At first, Harry thought he'd offended her and wasn't sure how to broach an apology. But she looked up, and for the first time, her detached demeanour seemed to be cracked. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. Tentatively, he moved his hand across the table to rest atop hers.

Shaking her head, Katie said, "It… it's nothing, really. Just thinking about things. You know how that is."

And he did indeed. There were few things he was surer of than being stalked by one's own thoughts. Perhaps it was fate that had intersected their paths, but in Katie's sullen brown eyes, he saw honesty, raw and painful and unbridled. She needed to talk, and he needed to listen. Maybe in order to find himself again, he had to find someone else first, because they were both lost.

Fuelled by that resolution, Harry said, "Tell me, Katie."

By that point, the server came back with a fresh round. Harry, not looking up, ordered, "Just leave the bottle." Quickly, the young man complied, and Harry refocused on the only person who he could bring himself to care about at the moment.

"No one calls me Katie anymore," she said with a sigh. "Roger always called me 'Katherine' or 'Kate', and everyone else said 'Miss Bell this' or 'Mrs Davies that'. It's like I'm a different person now, and no one remembers me. _You_ didn't."

"I knew you straightaway," Harry admitted. "You just… looked a lot different than you used to."

Katie laughed sardonically. "That'd be Roger's doing. The first thing he did when we got married was send me off to France for cosmetic enhancement. He didn't see why Appleby's best player shouldn't have the best-looking wife."

Appalled by what Katie had said, Harry said, "If he really cared what you looked like that much, he'd have been better off marrying someone else."

Shaking her head, Katie said, "That's not how he operates. I was naïve and idealistic, so he could bend me to his will so long as he spoon-fed me his lies about loving me and making dreams come true. I can't believe I fell for a load of waffle like that, but I did. I fell hard." Taking a long dreg straight from the bottle of scotch, she added hoarsely, "Took me ages to figure him out, but I finally got him back."

At Harry's questioning gaze, she continued. "The thing is… married Quidditch players attract more fans and eventually end up getting paid more. It's… complicated how it works, but wholesome family men sell more tickets. All he needed was someone stupid enough not to know what he was playing at, and he found me."

The pieces began to fall in place for Harry. It no longer surprised him that she was cold and so as different from his old teammate as someone could possibly be. He hadn't thought Roger Davies was that much of a prat, but money, for wizards and Muggles alike, made people do all manner of things to get it. And that included decimating the life of a girl like Katie Bell. "I'm sorry," he said finally, not sure what sort of comfort he could possibly offer.

Katie smiled tightly. "So am I."

Quiet fell between them, leaving the pair to polish off the remnants of the bottle. Harry felt his equilibrium slowly erode, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to sit upright. However, this was nothing compared to the wave of discord that hit his senses when he stood to go to the loo. Nearly toppling to the floor, he hugged the back of his chair to steady himself. He looked up to tell Katie he was okay, but when they made eye contact, both of them burst into laughter.

"You look a right prat," she snickered.

Abandoning his bathroom mission in favour of making the room stop spinning, Harry snorted, "I reckon I do." He picked up the bottle and squinted down its neck. "Bollocks. Should we order another one?"

Her hair swishing with the motion, Katie slurred, "Oh, no you don't!" She jabbed her finger at him and said, "You, sir, have had enough. Bar's cuttin' you off now."

Harry harrumphed. "How rude." Setting the bottle back on the table, he said, "Well, then I suppose I should be off. I've done what I came to do, judging by the evidence, as I have _no_ idea why I came here." Yawning loudly, he murmured, "Just need to… need to rest my eyes a bit." With a contented sigh, he folded his arms and nestled his head in the crook of his elbow.


	2. Chapter 2

His skull was going to crack open. He was sure of it. There was simply no way that such pressure could be lunging at his nerves and not cause his whole head to break under the strain. The blaring summer sun did nothing to remedy his distress, either. With a groan, Harry flopped his arm over his eyes and muttered, "Damn."

A chuckle permeated the haze of pain. He felt something being pushed into his hand — a tiny bottle. An arm slid under his shoulders and helped him sit upright, the motion of which made vomit rise in his throat. As if his mysterious benefactor could read his mind, a bucket appeared in his lap, into which he gratefully jettisoned the poison writhing in his stomach. When he had nothing left in him to empty, he squeezed his eyes shut and panted for fresh breath to chase away the lingering sourness in his mouth.

"Drink it," said a voice, made indistinguishable by his roaring headache. At first, he had no idea what 'it' was until something nudged his hand and reminded him that it wasn't empty. He uncorked the tiny phial and, as he was too tired and agonised to question what he was being told, downed it in a single gulp. If anything tasted like Polyjuice Potion without being quite as foul, this was most certainly it. It was all he could do not to spit it out.

A glass of water was pushed in front of him, which he consumed greedily. The vile flavour in his mouth abated, and as the liquid hit his stomach, a cool, calming sensation spidered through his limbs and, thankfully, into his pounding head. The sharp ache eased and virtually disappeared before he could even finish his drink, and he could finally inhale fully without the feeling of his brain exploding.

"Here," the voice said again, which he could finally identify as female as she put his glasses in his hand. Once he could see again, he was offered a couple Tooth-Flossing Stringmints, which made short work of the bitterness left in his mouth. He sighed, grateful to feel human again, before flopping back on the pillows.

_Pillows?_ It was this point that Harry started to realise that he had no idea where he was. He instantly shot up and looked at his surroundings. It was a rather large bedroom, decorated in varying shades of purple, centre-pieced by the gigantic bed he inhabited. And sitting on the edge of the mattress right next to his feet was Katie, who was smiling.

"Welcome back," she said as she Vanished the contents of the sick bucket.

"Where am I," he asked, still visually exploring his unfamiliar surroundings.

Sweeping her arm toward the expanse of the room, Katie said, "Welcome to my humble abode. You passed out, so I brought you home with me before the wrong people could catch wind of it." Holding up her hands like a mock headline, she said in an overly serious voice, "Harry Potter: Luscious or Just Plain Lush?"

Harry laughed. "I've never been 'luscious' a day in my life, so I'd imagine 'lush' would be more accurate."

With nothing left to add, Harry fell silent. With the end of his physical distress came a new dilemma: what had happened the night before? He remembered having a couple beers before starting on the liquor, but anything after that, he wasn't sure. Katie seemed happy to see him, which made him wonder out loud, "Did we, um… you know?"

Her expression was inscrutable. "What if I said we did?" She raised a brow, as if challenging him to answer.

He felt his face flame in embarrassment. "I suppose an apology would be in order. So, er…" he looked squarely at his feet, "sorry."

The reaction he had expected had not been amusement, yet that was what he received, "Why on earth would you apologise? Even if anything _had_ happened, why would that be a problem?"

"I, uh…" he stuttered. "That's not what I meant." Frowning, he said, "Actually, I'm not sure what I meant. I guess it's because, well, your divorce and all. I don't want to make things worse."

Shaking her head, Katie rolled her eyes. "As if you could have done. If anything, _you_ should be happy that _I_ didn't take advantage."

"Oh, please!" Harry fired. "I haven't found a life I couldn't wreck!" His fingers delved into his hair, pulling hard as if to inflict pain upon himself, despite having just banished it. It was starting to come back to him, the reasons why he had tried to drown himself in the release of inebriation. "My life is normal; my life is boring! Why can't I just be happy with that like everyone else?"

"Because you're not like everyone else," Katie replied quietly. "If you were, we wouldn't be here right now."

Her abrupt change in demeanour jarred Harry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you know how long it's been since anyone has ever asked me how I was doing?" Looking down at her hands, which she was wringing in her lap, she said, "Everyone just assumes that, since I'm rich now…"

Harry shut his mouth and didn't look at her, just in case he found something stupid and insensitive to say and upset her. He was good at that, a fact to which Ginny could well attest. Even Ron found it difficult to be around him sometimes, and Hermione made it her life's mission to psychoanalyse him at every opportunity. But there was something about Katie that made him want to talk to her. He felt low, and so did she. His friends had all moved on to happiness, but, like him, his former teammate woke up every morning, questioning why she should even bother getting out of bed.

"I broke my wand yesterday," he said, uncertain of why he did. "Well, um, I didn't break it, per se, but it got broken."

"Oh?" Katie said, fleetingly catching his eye before her gaze retreated once more.

Nodding, Harry said, "Yeah. It was… weird. I didn't even care." He thought about it and amended, "Well, I did care, but it was more of an annoyance that I couldn't Apparate without it and I'd have to take the Floo." From the nightstand, he took the replacement wand he'd purchased the previous day and looked at it closely. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Are you happy?" Katie interjected.

Thrown off by the question, Harry said, "W-what?"

"Are you happy?"

"I…" The more he pondered it, the less of a clue Harry had of what the answer was. "I suppose so. I don't know."

Katie shook her head. "Didn't think so." Pursing her lips, she appeared deep in thought before asking, "When's the last time you got on a broomstick?"

This time, Harry didn't need to hesitate with an answer. "Day of the battle."

"Why?" She raised a brow, awaiting his reply.

Opening his mouth was as far as Harry got as he struggled to formulate a response. He loved to fly, yet he hadn't done it in over six years. Not even two weeks before, he had turned twenty-four, and the idea of celebrating had not even occurred to him. He had spent his birthday on the settee, reading the _Prophet_. Ginny had climbed to fifth in the top scorer leaderboard, and Oliver Wood was set to earn a starting roster spot for Puddlemere United in the upcoming season. St Mungo's announced that an up-and-coming music group, The Troll Brothers, were set to perform at their fundraiser ball. Ernie Macmillan and Mandy Brocklehurst were getting married. And then he'd gone to bed before ten.

In other words, it was hardly discernible from any other day he spent at home after work. _Was_ he happy? If he thought about it hard enough, his daily routine didn't vary all that much from what his Uncle Vernon did every day. That realisation made something inside of him wither, and he was dangerously close to throwing up again. "I don't know."

"Then let's go," Katie said simply. "I've got a few brooms in the wardrobe."

Unable to come up with a reason to refuse, Harry simply followed Katie and took the broom she handed him. He looked down at it to see which model it was. "A Nimbus 2000." The high polish and gleaming gold lettering of his very first broomstick model made a smile tug unbidden at the corners of his mouth.

Grinning, Katie said, "I thought you might like that one." She took her own broom in her right hand and hooked her left arm to Harry's elbow. "Let's be off then." Before Harry could ask where, he was tugged into the pressing blackness of Apparition. The jolting did nothing to ease his newly dispelled nausea, but before he knew it, he found himself in the centre of a field of sunburnt grass.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Looking around as if drinking in the scenery, Katie sighed, "I grew up here. This is where I sat my first broomstick." She pointed to the north and said, "My parents' house is about one mile that way."

Harry observed his surroundings. He felt a minor stab of jealousy that Katie had been able to fly so freely when she was younger, while his broom had been firmly stowed in his trunk all summer long. It reminded him sharply of the childhood he could've had if things had been different. Every tree, every scorched blade of overlong grass — they were perfect. If he never left the place, he wouldn't have minded at all.

"It's gorgeous," he said quietly, still rapt by the environs. "I could probably stay here forever." And he meant it. This place appealed to him the same way the Burrow did, with vast expanses begging to be traversed. As it was, he desperately wanted to mount his broom and get a bird's eye view of the simple splendour of this patch of countryside.

As if she could read his mind, Katie nudged his arm with her elbow. "Well, go on then!"

Needing no further prompting, Harry straddled the broom shaft and kicked off as hard as he could. He shot into the air like an arrow, and the feel of the wind coursing over every inch of him awakened a long-dormant part of him, one he'd not permitted to surface for eight years. The higher he climbed, the more things began to slip away from the forefront of his mind. A cry of pure joy flowed unabashedly from his throat.

He steered the broom straight upward, enjoying the strain of his body weight as he hung on for all he was worth. As the altitude increased, he felt himself become more and more breathless, a combination of thinner air and exhilaration. Once he was sure his lungs would burst, he levelled off and looked down upon the landscape. From up there, everything seemed so small and unimportant. There was only him and the blissful companion that was altitude.

Soon, Katie settled beside him and joined him in absorbing the scenery. Harry glanced over at her, and for the first time since they'd met at the Cauldron, she was the girl he had known at Hogwarts, the one who was at home on a broom and her happiest when she was flying. He couldn't help but share her grin as he said, "Race you to that stand of pines."

"You're on," she replied before taking off like a shot. Harry blasted off after her. His eyes trained on the target, which was the shock of tail twigs visible underneath her fluttering garments. The rush of pursuit sizzled in his every nerve ending as he slowly closed the distance between them, their destination quickly approaching. Just as they were about a hundred feet from the tips of the pines, he had managed to pull up beside her.

Glancing over, Harry saw stoic determination on her features, an expression he remembered well from her days as a Chaser. For a moment, he considered letting her win, but that thought was quickly dismissed, as she would've been able to tell right away. Instead, he clenched his teeth and —

Pain rattled through his limbs as he collided with the tallest tree. A moment of panic surged into his brain as he felt his broom continue forward without him, sending him downward through the tree's branches. Every time he tried to grab his wand from his pocket, the tree had other ideas, buffeting his arm away from his last means of salvation. All he could do was wait for the ground to halt his plummeting form.

But as Harry squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight of the earth fast approaching, he felt himself be hooked upward and away from the tree. When he dared look, he saw Katie with one hand clenched around his ankle and the other gripping the stirrup of her broomstick. He frantically looked from her hold on him and to her only lifeline, seeing that she wouldn't be able to handle both of their weights.

"Let me go!" he called. "If you don't, we'll both fall."

"Not a chance!" Katie fired, renewing her vice-like grip on his hand. Nodding toward the tree, she said, "Try to get a foothold on the branch and Summon your broom!"

Harry could just barely see his feet, and he identified the closest branch that could hold his weight. Carefully, he hooked his foot back and tried to make contact. His toe brushed the breadth of the limb, indicating that he was close to the target. He determinedly scooted his feet toward the thicker part of the branch until he could feel it strain under his full body weight. Finally steady, he slipped his wand from his pocket and cried, "_Accio Nimbus_!"

The broom, which had hovered patiently in the air, swooshed through the foliage, giving him just enough of a chance to bite his wand and get a firm grasp on the shaft. He let go of Katie's hand so she could get a better grip on her own broom, and within seconds, he was mounted and helping Katie get straightened out once more. They both sat unmoving on the brooms, staring at one another. Harry couldn't contain the nervous peal of laughter that radiated from his chest. She joined in until she was wiping tears from her eyes.

"You prat!" she gasped. "You ran into… into a _tree_! How could you possibly run into a _tree_?"

"I don't know," he wheezed between bouts of mirth. "I just…" Harry breathed deeply until he was able to articulate properly. "I guess I was thinking."

Katie had slowly quit laughing along with him. Her expression pensive, she asked, "'Bout what?"

Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure how she would react if he said his thoughts had been about her. But, somehow, he found it hard to lie to someone who had seen him vomit copiously. Taking a deep breath, he admitted, "About how you look a lot happier in the air."

"You know," she started, a wry smile on her face, "I was just thinking the same about you. You were always so glad to sit a broom, no matter what the circumstances. Even that match we had in the god-awful rain… all you cared about was doing your best." She looked down at the ground below. "I have to admit, I had a huge crush on you after that."

Not expecting that remark, Harry started. "Really? You had a crush on _me_? I was so awkward then, and you were far too pretty for a git like me."

"Pfft," Katie snorted. "If I wanted pretty, I'd have stayed with Roger and his loo full of beauty products. I'd rather have someone who isn't, well… like Roger." She laughed humourlessly.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Harry said, almost wishing he had kept his last remark to himself. "I just meant that… well, you were pretty fit in your own right, and you really didn't need extra, er, _stuff_ to —" He cut himself off when Katie's hands hid her face. "Bollocks, I'm sorry. I should really learn when to shut up."

He watched her nervously, hoping that his insensitive remark hadn't wounded her greatly. When she angled her broom downward for a landing, it didn't seem to be a sign in his favour, but he wasn't going to let her walk away with that hanging over their heads. But he didn't get that chance, as she Apparated away seconds later.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night, Harry sat at his kitchen table, absently polishing the handle of the broom he'd not got the chance to return to Katie. He was thankful for the distraction, as well as nostalgic for the days when he did this very chore once a week with such enthusiasm. It wasn't until every last inch of the wood gleamed with lustre and every twig was neatly trimmed that he let his mind wander back to that grassy haven and, more specifically, the woman who had taken him there.

Katie had understood things about him that he himself hardly had the ability to admit. She had asked him if he was happy, and he hadn't been able to give her a proper answer. For all intents and purposes, he wasn't sure he had one. His life was where he'd expected it to be, save for things not working out with Ginny. The population of Dark wizards had been cut down to almost nil, he was a full-fledged Auror, and his two best friends were happy with their lot in life. In those respects, he was rich.

But he was polishing a broomstick on a Saturday night. He slept alone in a flat that smelled of must and dirty socks. Evenhe found that a bit pathetic, and thoughts of his day-to-day routine pushed him further and further into the realisation that he'd been dreading for years.

Of course he wasn't happy. Every night he went to bed, the idea of waking up became more distasteful every time. He went to work every day, stayed as long as they would allow, and went home and surrounded himself with yet more work. At weekends, he more often than not foisted his presence on Ron and Hermione, who were trying to conceive and certainly didn't need company during their efforts. Hermione didn't mind and was always glad to see him, at least he hoped, but Ron was never good at hiding his feelings and was definitely becoming tired of redirecting his unspent sexual energy into mundane chatter.

By this point in his life, he had been expecting the same thing, to be trying to build a family of his own, which he had wanted so badly because he'd never had it growing up. He'd honestly thought he'd be married or with prospects by age twenty-four, not ponding the meaning of life while polishing a broomstick alone. He doubted that Katie went into her marriage with the foreknowledge that she would be divorced and as alone as he was.

Katie. He owed her an apology. She was nothing but good to him in his time of need, and he had made her uncomfortable and upset. Thinking of the broomstick in front of him as an excuse to seek her out, Harry gripped it and focused his mind on the only room in her flat that he knew. Wrapping his hand around his wand, he squeezed his eyes shut until the pull of Apparition hurled him onto a shock of fluffy carpet.

Peeling himself off the floor, Harry looked around at the barely-familiar décor of Katie's bedroom, glad that he had made it there based solely on his foggy recollections of what it looked like. It was dark save for a candle on the bedside table, but the ambient scent, one of clean linens and a hint of strawberries, marked it in his mind as where he had been earlier that day.

He looked around for Katie, hoping that he would be able to exit the flat and knock on the door properly before she noticed he was there. It was then that he heard the soft trickle of water coming from the bathroom and, more importantly, the sound of it ending. Realising that he was grossly encroaching on her privacy, Harry darted toward the door, but as soon as his hand wrapped around the knob, he knew he was no longer alone in the room. He was sure there was no earthly way she hadn't seen him, and his brain sprang into action, contemplating any possible explanation that might keep him from being rightfully hexed.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and slowly turned around to stammer an apology, but he couldn't hear so much as an indignant gasp. The possibility that he might have still had time to get away forced his lids to re-open, and any words he had strung together in his mind evaporated as his mouth became painfully dry. Katie was most certainly in the room; however, where he had expected shock or outrage on her face, there was only nonchalance as she nodded in acknowledgement and continued to towel off her hair. And the towel in her hand was the only stitch of fabric to be found on her person.

"I… I should go now," Harry stuttered, thrusting the broomstick that was still in his hand toward her, which she took and tossed carelessly into the corner. In a voice a half-octave higher than the norm, he blurted, "I came to give this back to you, but I wasn't sure where to find you. So I remembered this room and I Apparated in and…" His concentration abandoned him in short order as Katie began to approach him, her mouth angled into a borderline smirk and her body still glistening with moisture.

Though he tried his level best, Harry could not stop the reflexive tightening of his body in response. His gaze kept straying toward her chest and even lower, watching lithe muscles play under pale skin. He didn't even realise that he was audibly panting until she stopped in front of him and clapped his jaw closed with her forefinger.

"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you," she said. "Otherwise, I might've been a bit more… prepared."

Shaking his head, Harry said, "No, no — I'm bloody rude, and I should probably just… go now." He tripped on the last couple of syllables when her tongue brushed her bottom lip. His right hand fumbled behind him for the door handle and was already heavily perspiring. Averting his vision toward the ceiling in an attempted to regain composure, he tried to reel in the wayward thoughts rampaging through his head, but with little success. "Oh, God," he breathed.

Katie snaked an arm around his neck and forced him to look at her face. "Go ahead and look. Hardly any of this is mine anyway. Just a bit of cosmetic witchcraft. In six months' time, I'm supposed to go back to Paris for a booster session, but I don't think I will. I'll go back to being plain, flat-chested Katie Bell again." She hoisted one of her breasts and examined it. "Though I might miss them a bit. Shopping for jumpers is easier when there's something to put in them."

Devoid of anything resembling a reply, Harry swallowed hard. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep himself in check, and that command was quickly dissolving. But when her other hand slowly trekked its way down his chest before brushing against the fly of his jeans. That last sliver of control snapped under that gentle pressure, something primal flaring to life beneath her fingers.

Leaning toward his ear, Katie whispered, "You can stay if you like."

His ears filled with the sound of his blood pounding, Harry could hardly hear himself gasp, "I really shouldn't."

"Your trousers say otherwise."

Fighting for one final modicum of higher thought, Harry said, "You don't want this. This isn't like you. And I'm not good for you, or anyone, for that matter." He knew that he had to make her see reason before he was incapable of it himself. But that went out the window when she jerked open the zip on his jeans and wrapped her hand around his pulsing arousal.

"If you haven't noticed," she said before meeting his eyes with a gaze wrought with intensity, "I'm a big girl now. I think I'm allowed to decide for myself what I want." Bringing her lips to within a hair's breadth of his, she hissed, "Or who I want."

Almost of its own accord, Harry's mouth claimed hers. All he knew was the hand massaging his most sensitive organ and the resulting tumult of wanting that came from every stimulated nerve. Torn between the need for more and the agony that it caused, he growled and pulled her body into his. His brain clouded, he was confused when she shoved him back up against the door, stealing the contact with her bare flesh that base nature demanded.

"Patience, love." She left a soft, almost negligible kiss on his cheek before sinking to her knees. "A little bit at a time." With excruciatingly slow precision, she finished unfastening his trousers and pulled them down to his ankles before returning her attention to his midsection. When he felt her teeth scrape the skin of his belly before clamping around the elastic waistband of his underwear, Harry felt the whole room tilt. The constrictive fabric was pulled back and downward, freeing his aching manhood, and when her tongue traced a path upward along its breadth, his knees started to burn. Only his hand on the doorknob kept him from sliding into a pile on the floor along with his clothing. And when moist heat enveloped him, all he could do was mutter incoherently, as his entire world had been narrowed down to a brisk set of lips stroking him into oblivion.

He couldn't help but buck his hips, but his eagerness was punished when her ministrations were slowed to nearly a halt. Devastated, he looked down, only to find her smirking at him and wagging a finger chidingly. The coyness she oozed made him want to bury himself inside her and make her feel what he was feeling. But any idea of him having any control were doused when she took in his whole length in one swift motion, and a groan of intense pleasure tore through his throat.

Just when he was sure he wouldn't be able to hold himself any longer, her mouth slowly slid up, up, and away from his slickened member and toward his own lips. Surprising himself, Harry gently kissed her before cupping her bottom and carrying her over to the bed. He lay her down near the edge so her legs would hang over the side. Hooking one knee over either shoulder, he nipped at the soft flesh of her inner thigh, working his way down until he was an inch away from her core, which was glittering with the dew of desire.

Tentatively, he touched the tip of his tongue to the pulsating pinkness and was rewarded with a strangled whimper. Encouraged that he was on the right path, he did so again, only this time, her fingers coiled into his hair and roughly pulled him closer. The salty tang of payback danced on his palate as he stared down the flat plane of her belly and repeated her earlier statement. "Patience, love."

The feel of her writhing in pleasure gave him a rush of power that eschewed his former mindless ecstasy in favour of a singular focus — to make her scream his name. It almost shocked him in its intensity, but the almost beast-like presence of his libido demanded it. His mission in place, he teased and he coaxed the outer edges of her womanhood until she was nearly sobbing beneath him. In one last act of borderline cruelty, he parted her folds and thrust his tongue into her depths.

A shriek filled the room, which only served to strengthen Harry's ardour. Finally, he closed his lips around the sensitised bead at her centre and kissed it before journeying to her mouth once more. She matched his need, and with hitching breath, she begged him, "Please."

It was a plea that he couldn't ignore, and Harry pushed himself inside her with a single thrust. Katie's groan of pleasure vibrated through him and spurred him to drive his hips madly until her only sound was a ragged pant. But it was when her hands weakly gripped his arms that he lost his measured pacing and let his feral desire take hold. The beads of sweat that trickled down his back only stimulated him further, and he knew he was close to the edge.

And when he felt himself let go within her, Harry collapsed on top of her, the soft, silken skin of her chest a welcome haven. Her arms wrapped around him, and her lips brushed his forehead gently, and it was the last thought before he fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When he awoke, Harry could see dawn breaking through the bedroom window and started, as his bedroom had no windows. It took a few seconds for him to register where he was and, more importantly, who he was with. Fumbling for his glasses, he found them on the bedside table, only to realise that he was alone in the bed. Nervously, he looked around for Katie, only to find her brushing her hair at her bureau, combing through the same spot over and over. He felt a pang of guilt as vivid images of their last night's pursuits trickled into his brain.

He slid from under the covers — how he got there, he didn't recall — with the intention of saying something, anything to Katie to bring back the spark of life he'd remembered from their time up in the air. Her eyes' reflection in the mirror bore no resemblance to the woman who had brazenly coaxed him into her bed. That fact made him grossly self-conscious of his waist-down nudity. Flushing, even though no one was looking, he pulled the duvet from the bed and wrapped himself in it.

Harry padded over to stand next to her, hoping that she would be at least willing to talk to him. Katie gave no indication that she either acknowledged his presence or objected to it, so he stood there, staring at a portion of the wall, hoping it would captivate him as much as the hairbrush did for her. For some time, neither of them said anything, but Katie finally snapped the silence.

"I must be so disgusting to you."

Starting, Harry asked, "Why would I be disgusted by you?"

Finally, Katie broke her concentrated gaze from the mirror and looked up at him. "I… what we did. Nice girls don't do things like that, and I'm not a nice girl anymore. You'll always be the guy with the nice girl."

All Harry could do was gape at her. "Is that what you think? You think I… you really think that of me?"

"Why not?" she said with a shrug. "_I_ think that of me. Why should you be any different?"

Revulsion churned at the pit of his stomach. The mere implication made him nauseous. "Well, if you think I'm that bloody insensitive, then why even bother?" He couldn't keep the sneer from his voice, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

"Because I thought I could just _do_ it!" she cried. "I thought we could just both have a fun night together and go our separate ways, because God knows we both needed something. I thought…" She roughly scrubbed her face with her hands. "I thought I was over this."

He still could hardly understand what she meant. "Over what?"

"You!" she said, almost accusingly. "You are _everything_ I ever wanted in another person. Do you know how _painful_ it is to watch you sleep next to me with the knowledge that, in a couple hours, you'll walk away and I won't see you again save for some random chance? That I'll just end up with some other tosser like Roger because I don't know anything different?"

Dumbfounded, Harry tried desperately to process what she had just said. He wished he had something of the like to say in return, but there was nothing. She wasn't anything like the girl he'd always dreamt of being with. She had been before Roger, but that git had slowly but surely beaten down the sweet, soft Katie Bell that he had known for so many years. All that remained was this cynical, made-up shell of a woman who was more likely to drink herself into a stupor than she was to say 'hello' to someone on the street. He simply never saw himself falling in with someone like her.

But he had also never expected to feel so directionless. She had asked him if he was happy, and he had acknowledged inwardly that he wasn't. What he thought he wanted was clearly no longer the case, and it certainly wasn't what he had needed.

Without another word, Harry went over to the nightstand where his wand had landed and muttered, "I'll be back," before Apparating from the room. Seconds later, he was standing in his own foyer, from which he proceeded into his bedroom where a small desk sat covered in his on-going assignments. He used his forearm and roughly scraped them all onto the floor before pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, scribbling down the first coherent sentences that came to him. Once he had a satisfactory draft, he rolled up the paper and again disappeared with a _pop_.

This time, his travels took him back to where he had started the previous day. The bustle in the Atrium before everyone rushed off to their respective floors was barely beginning, but it was steady enough that he was compelled to quickly leave the Apparition platform to avoid being bowled over. However, he had no plans on remaining there anyway as he went straight for the security desk. Jim Peakes was there in his usual posture — feet up on the desk with that morning's _Prophet_ hiding his face. Harry rapped on the desk briskly to get his attention

"Hey, Jim, is Proudfoot in yet?"

Jim raised a brow confusedly. "It's Sunday, Harry. You know he doesn't come in on Sunday."

"Bollocks," Harry muttered, annoyed with himself for making such a silly error. He would've realised that had he taken the time to look at the people who had arrived as he had, who were quite distinctly, once he thought about it, the weekend staff. But Sunday did mean one thing: the Minister would be in for a couple hours to sign forms that needed filing before Monday. This would be Harry's last chance to do what he had come to do before he lost the nerve. Still hopeful, he asked, "Has Kingsley come in yet?"

"Yeah, about twenty minutes ago," Jim said, a tinge of nervousness creeping into his voice. "Something wrong, mate?"

"No idea," Harry said lightly. "Not a clue." He chuckled before patting the desk in front of a quite confused Jim. "Thanks, Jim." Leaving behind the very mystified watchman, he strode toward the lifts along with a small flock of chatting women in Accidental Magic Reversal Squad robes. Their subject of conversation quickly shifted, as they often did when he was around, but for once, he didn't get that niggling feeling of annoyance. Instead, he merely grinned and said, "Good morning, ladies."

As the lift lurched into motion, Harry couldn't prise the smile off of his face brought on by the awkward silence surrounding him. Recalling bits of gossip that they had been sharing upon his arrival, he turned around and said, "Oh, in case you were wondering —" looking at the witch on the far right, "— no, I'm not gay, and —" and to the one next to her, "— I don't really have a dragon tattoo. Thought that one had been debunked years ago."

Almost on cue, the lift slowed, and the automated voice said, "Level One: Administration." Harry bowed slightly and said, "It's been lovely chatting with you, but this is my stop." The gates clattered open, and he backed out. With a sweeping gesture, he said to the gawking women, "Carry on."

_That should give them some fresh material_, he thought with a smirk. He had better things to do than worry about trivial things like busybodies and what they thought. He was fairly certain he didn't give a damn at all. And that realisation only served to lengthen his stride as he breezed his way through the Ministerial Security checkpoint. His blasé demeanour lasted until he reached the heavy wooden door bearing a shining, gold placard that said:

KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT

Minister of Magic

At the sight of the name, Harry faltered a bit. Only once had he seen consternation on the composed face of the Minister, even in the midst of turmoil. He wasn't sure how the man would react to what Harry was going to bring up. But no matter how little he looked forward to disappointment with which he would likely be met, he was still more certain than ever that what he was planning was the right thing to do.

Taking a deep breath, Harry knocked on the door, which was slightly ajar, and despite his resolution, he jumped slightly when Kingsley's deep voice called, "Come in." Inside, the Minister was scribbling his signature on an inch-thick stack of forms, one at a time, but when he heard the door close, he set down his quill and looked up. Once he saw who had come, he smiled broadly. "It is good to see you, Harry."

Nodding, Harry said, "Likewise, sir." Suddenly a lot more nervous, his gaze drifted down to his shoes as he contemplated the best way of broaching the matter at hand. It would require tact and diplomacy and—

"I'm resigning," Harry blurted before he completely lost the nerve.

Kingsley raised a brow, looking intently at Harry as if with Legilimency to gauge his level of seriousness. That focus was only broken when Harry tentatively held out the paper that he had unwittingly been crushing in his hand. The Minister considered the offering, took the rumpled parchment and perused it. "Hmm…"

Harry felt obligated to defend his reasoning, but everything that came into his head was jumbled at best. He only got as far as opening his mouth before Kingsley put him out of his misery.

"I have to say, Harry, that while I'm disappointed that we'll be losing a fine Auror, I wish you well in finding whatever it is you seek." As he smoothed the note with one tap of his wand, Kingsley added, "Do you have any particular plans for your newfound free time?"

Relief pooled in Harry's stomach. He had expected to have to explain himself, or even a flat out refusal to accept; the understanding from Kingsley reminded Harry of why the man would likely go down as one of the best and most popular Ministers of Magic in history. His guilt assuaged, Harry finally meted out a reply, "Not particularly."

If any reaction was expected, grinning wasn't one of them. "Excellent. I envy you this opportunity, Harry. Ever since you were fifteen, I have worried that you would forget to live once you were caught up in the war."

Dumbfounded, Harry said, "Er, really?" When he saw nothing but seriousness on Kingsley's face, he thought out loud, "I suppose so, then. I thought, you know… that everyone would be angry with me and think I let them down." To that point, Harry had not voiced those fears even to himself, but as he stood across from the Minister of Magic himself, those latent insecurities became a whole lot larger.

He hadn't expected Kingsley to chuckle and shake his head. "Harry, you defeated the most powerful Dark wizard in history. I don't think anyone has the right to ask anything more of you that you aren't willing to give."

Relief flooded through Harry. "Thank you, sir," he said, almost more to himself than to Kingsley. A multitude of concerns had just been alleviated, including how he would feel after the deed was done. Any number of things could've come over him: regret, self-loathing, uncertainty, emptiness. Yet none of them presented at all — just a sense of wonder that he truly had no more obligations.

Smiling to himself, Harry started to back toward the door. "Well, I should probably be off now. I don't have to be anywhere, obviously, but —" His back thwacked into the closed door, and groping for the knob, made to leave before he embarrassed himself further. However, Kingsley's voice halted his exit.

"Just so you know, Harry," the Minister started, "you are always welcome to return to your job at any time if you so desire."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Harry said, "Thank you, sir," before slipping out of the room. As the door closed behind him, it felt as if it closed on a lot more than Kingsley's office. It put all the expectation solidly into the past, as well. He had not even realised the heaviness that it had put on his shoulders until it was gone, and its absence put a lightness in his step as he practically breezed toward the lift.

Once the gates closed and the automated voice asked Harry where he wanted to go, though, he paused. The responsible thing to do would have been to make his way to the second level to tell Hermione about his decision and then to clean out his cubicle, but Hermione had ways of finding things out and his desk could wait. The more he considered his options, the more he knew that he could only see one option in his immediate future. With that, he said, "Level Eight, please."

As the lift glided to a stop at the Atrium, Harry made his way to the Apparition platforms, which were nearly depopulated since most of the Ministry's small Sunday contingent had already got to work. With a _crack_, he went to the only place he wished to be at the moment, where he had come to the epiphany to end them all.

When he arrived, the sound of the shower greeted him as it had the previous time. However, instead of trying to duck out before he was found, he flung himself onto the bed, leant back onto the pillows, and stared at the plaster on the ceiling until the swirls began to form patterns. His feet swayed back and forth to a non-existent tune as he waited for the stream of water to stop and for its occupant to come out.

When she opened the door, her hair was wrapped in a towel and she was drying her lithe limbs as he watched. Harry's mouth pulled into a content smile. "Hello there," he said.

Not averting her attention from her task, Katie said, "Didn't know if you were coming back."

"Said I would," he said, sliding rather reluctantly from the bed. He wrapped a hand around the bedpost and swung around the corner to stand in front of her. "Not going to ask me where I was?"

She harrumphed. "I imagine you're going to tell me anyway, so out with it already."

Taking a heavy breath, Harry said, "I quit."

Katie paused with the towel and looked at him finally. "Really? You… you quit your job?"

"I did."

"I thought it was what you always wanted to do."

Shrugging, Harry simply replied, "Things change, I guess." His eyes perused her mostly naked figure and he groaned. He pulled her close to him and hovered his lips over hers.

"I guess they do," she breathed before ending that last bit of distance. But as soon as she was there, she was already walking away from him to her wardrobe. "But that can wait."

Watching as she dressed, utterly confused, Harry said, "Wait for what?"

Before she answered, Katie finished dressing in a simple top and jeans. She went to the corner of the room and pulled out the Nimbus that Harry had left there the night before and tossed it to Harry. With a smirk, she said, "First, we fly."

And those words were music to Harry's ears.


End file.
